


Tales of the Frontier

by Hectrex



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 31 Days of Apex (Apex Legends), Gen, Sheilafinder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectrex/pseuds/Hectrex
Summary: First inspired by the Freestyle day from 31 Days of Apex, this set of stories details different tales surrounding the legends, all in the form of a radio program.
Relationships: Pathfinder / Sheila
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. Tight Spot Robot

_Pleasant music plays, akin to a 1950's PSA._

_A chipper narrator speaks up._

On today's Tales of the Frontier: "Tight Spot Robot"

Beneath a crystal clear sky breathes another enchanting day in King's Canyon. Birds chirp and burble their love songs, hoping for a sweet melody in return that welcomes them to the start of a nest and family. A playful gust whips up sand and sprinkles the Gauntlet floor, soaking up freshly-spilled blood. Shrapnel glitters just before embedding itself in Wattson's arm, creating a collage of punctures in a shape not unlike a camel.

Oh, yes, there's also a bloodsport going on at the moment.

On a rooftop, a crimson red simulacrum sprays lead like a child with an automatic slingshot, hoping to burst open flesh piñatas and dance on the mortal candy within. Revenant is picking off members in another fight from a distance, using their battle against them. However, in his revolting reverie, he does not sense the axe behind him. With one swing, Bloodhound beheads the sniping owl and watches as his metal skull rolls off the roof, onto a jump pad, and then into the waves below.

But, my friends, this is not the end of our automaton assassin. For, like a bastardized Spring, he will come forth once more with new life. But where will he awaken? Let's find out.

His eyes open, electronic light dimly glowing from them into the darkness. He attempts to stand up, but fails in doing so. With a grunt of displeasure, Revenant turns on nightvision and discovers he can't stand because his legs aren't attached and are, in fact, nowhere near his body. The robot scans his surroundings and finds that he is in a box. He proceeds to take the next logical course of action:

Panic.

In a closet in an abandoned apartment on Solace, a suitcase begins rumbling and screaming. Revenant's terror echoes through the room as he attempts to open the suitcase in vain. This container, however, was made by Hephaestus Travel Tech, and isn't easily opened without the key.

"Hephaestus Travel Tech: For the hardy spacefarer. (Subsidiary of Kodai Industries)"

Revenant's suitcase tumbles around the room for a few minutes before he stops and formulates a plan. The plan is to find a wall, bump into it repeatedly, and scream louder. He does this for three hours, constantly demanding for someone to let him out.

After the third hour, a maintenance worker for the apartments is sent to address a strange knocking. She unlocks the apartment and suddenly hears the muffled angry cries of a man in the master bedroom. However, upon opening the door, the worker finds our distressed luggage lunging at her like a vacationing poltergeist. In the rudest of fashions, she runs from the flat in pure fear.

After a fair bit of shuffling, Revenant is able to make it into the kitchen, but it is here our sinister friend devises a change in tactics.

"Maybe screaming is a bit too traumatizing for some people. If I keep this up, they may just set me on fire, or they could end up launching me into space (wouldn't be the first time). So, what's going to make them open this thing?"

A few minutes later, following the blunder of the maintenance worker, the building's superintendent can be seen entering the apartment. She is posh, refined, and always in control of the situation. No amount of "Agh, it was a ghost!" will deter her. Once her footsteps reach the kitchen, she stops and sees the luggage.

"Well," she harumphs, "doesn't seem to be so haunted after all."

Then, from within the suitcase comes a "Meow."

This isn't the sound of a kitten, mind you, but more like an ancient alley cat that has discovered how to smoke cigars while belching. All the same, the poor thing is trapped and doesn't deserve this fate. The superintendent retrieves some laser bolt cutters and snaps off the locks on the suitcase, all the while comforting the supposed feline encased within.

"There there. Let's get you set fre-"

Frozen. The super's eyes have always told her the truth, but now she desperately wishes for a lie. However, reality cares not for anyone's wishes, especially when they have found a talking skeleton in some discarded luggage.

"About time," the skeleton announces, "Does this thing have wheels?"

At this moment, any scientist worth their salt would give their life savings to study the faster-than-light travel exhibited by the superintendent.

With some effort, Revenant crawls down the stairs and into the street. He recognizes this area. In fact, he had done some reconnaissance here and knows just where to go to meet a friendly face.

A couple of blocks and a few screams later and our lanky limb-lugger is knocking on the door of one Octavio Silva.

"I need to borrow your legs."

It's now late in the evening at the Paradise Lounge. Bass beats bounce as a few people dance in what space is available. Colorful smoke hangs in the air like that one shirt your mother got you a few years back but you refuse to wear it due to how garish it is. An unconscious man lies on the floor while sporting two black eyes. A few feet away, Loba takes another shot of Skalinov Liqueur at the bar.

Mirage addresses her: "Are you sure you don't want me to put that guy somewhere else? A few of his fingers keep getting stepped on."

"Leave him," she replies, "let it serve as a warning to any other fools who think my hair is a toy to be pulled."

The main entrance opens, and the dance floor freezes. Suddenly, there is a lot more room, most of it now surrounding the front door. Mirage and Loba are unable to see who the newest patron is, and the bartender turns down the music's volume to catch if anything is being said.

But everyone is staring silently, in awe of Revenant standing in the doorway. He is only a fraction of his usual height, however, as Octane's prosthetics are attached to his hips, and they aren't full legs even for their caffeinated owner.

The simulacrum raises one of his arms (which are almost scraping the ground) and waves the crowd away, "Move it."

They part, allowing the assassin to waddle his way to the bar, an outstretched arm pointing at Loba in accusation.

"Where are my legs?" he demands.

Loba has trouble keeping her composure as she answers, "Don't you know? Or did they decide to run away from you?"

Revenant lunges forward, "Listen here, gir-argh," except he doesn't quite have the balance, so he instead tumbles like a toddler taking its first steps.

In the background, Mirage sweats while furiously cleaning a glass that hasn't even been used yet. If he allows himself to laugh, Revenant will probably just take _his_ legs.

The stunted simulacrum picks himself up, feels the gaze of the crowd, then turns around slowly. In his eyes, there is no mirth, only the foretelling of suffering should the sin of laughter be committed in the bloody cathedral that is his presence. Several patrons require new pants.

Returning to Loba, Revenant adopts a quiet, threatening tone, "I woke up in a suitcase this morning, and I know that was your doing. Give me. My legs."

Loba's smirk lingers for a few seconds before she takes another shot and replies, "I'm not sure why you came _here_. I left them in the same closet."

A solid beat crosses Revenant's face as his mind goes blank. The following thoughts fill the gap: confusion, realization, rage, embarrassment, rage due to embarrassment, a need for ice cream, rage due to no mouth with which to eat said ice cream, acceptance.

A little more rage.

Resignation to circumstances.

Without a word further, Revenant about-faces and creates another divide in the crowd, the skinny red orangutan solemnly preparing for the long waddle ahead.

Loba takes one more shot and relaxes in her complete satisfaction.


	2. Carry-on My Wayward Simulacrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31 Days of Apex - Day 31 - Freestyle: A rather silly set of stories involving Revenant and a suitcase.  
> As a note, this was written before more details about the state of Olympus were available.

_Pleasant music plays, akin to a 1950's PSA._

_A chipper narrator speaks up._

On today's Tales of the Frontier: "Carry-on My Wayward Simulacrum"

The weather on Solace is hot and is either arid as a Leviathan's knees or humid to the point of drowning, but never in between. This makes it the perfect climate for a game of basketball, where the goal is to have fun while suffering heat stroke. And nobody likes painful fun ("painfun", as they call it) quite like an Apex Legend.

A quickly assembled basketball court is situated on one of the landing strips at the abandoned Air Base, and today the legends are having a 2-on-2 match. Bangalore and Wraith are facing Lifeline and Mirage, and the score is currently 26 - 23 in the trickster and medic's favor. Wattson sits on the sideline, attempting to add a repeating device to Crypto's drone so it can intensify Hack's EMP output. Crypto was testing cameras added to Wattson's fences, but rushes over when she discovers a subroutine called "romantic_lighting" in Hack's files.

Dr. Caustic glares from a distance, hidden under the landing gear of a drop ship.

On the other side of the court, Gibraltar is trying to cheer up Octane, who has been relegated to fetching the ball if it heads to the edge of the strip. The daredevil was given this task after tossing out a jump pad on the court, despite being told repeatedly that extra equipment and skills wouldn't be allowed.

With a satisfying _swish_ , Wraith sinks a 3-pointer off the backboard, tying the game. Lifeline sees this as a good opportunity for everyone to take a water break as she summons D.O.C. with some bottles.

Sweat glistening on her hands, Bangalore checks her comms-pad and sees a new message from the suits. She reads it in full, chuckles to herself, then turns to the assembled legends.

"Listen up, team! We've finally got a date for the first match on Olympus. Only catch is that everybody's allowed in the city..."

"Except for Revenant," interrupts Crypto, who had already been reading the message on his visor, "and they're asking me to find a workaround."

Bangalore nods and acknowledges this, "Nothing surprising there, on both accounts. Trouble is, no amount of surveillance hacking will make him any less of an 'outstanding citizen'."

Wraith then adds, "I guess there are some borders that even the Syndicate can't break down."

Crypto curses in Korean, then replies, "Oh, they can break him in. I'm just the cheaper option."

With a smile, Wattson pats the man on the shoulder and encourages him, "We'll just have to 'brainstorm' a way to get the grumpy robot in. Maybe I could magnetize him to the hull of a ship!"

"That could maybe work," says Gibraltar, "but how do we get him past security? Believe you me, it's gonna be tight."

"I know!" springs Octane, "I can set up a jump pad and-"

"No," everyone else says in unison.

Wraith suggests, "We could dress him up like Bloodhound, then they could come over on a different ship."

And Bangalore shoots this down, "Not gonna fly. The second they take a metal detector to him, it'll scream louder than Elliot when he tries to hit a high note during karaoke."

Mirage grumbles, "At least I sing from the soul."

"So," opens up Lifeline, "what we gon' do? There has to be some way to smuggle 'im."

Mirage concedes defeat, "Are we sure we _have_ to bring him? We'll probably get some new blood soon anyways. Besides, it's not like we can just pack him in my luggage and carry him on board."

There is a pause as Mirage's last sentence hangs in the air.

"Y'know..." starts Gibraltar.

Bangalore agrees, "That could actually work. Crypto could easily hack the luggage check."

"And _señor_ loincloth is really flexible," adds Octane.

Mirage bargains, "Guys, why are you agreeing with me? This is a terrible idea."

"Elliot, we all know you have the most luggage out of any of us," reasons Wraith.

"And most of that is hair gel," mocks Crypto.

Bangalore adds, "Nobody's gonna notice one suitcase added to the pile."

Mirage, seeing he is clearly outnumbered, begrudgingly agrees, "Fine. But how am I supposed to get him to do this? I have a hard enough time talking to him about regular stuff without getting the heap beej... heebeepjeep... getting nervous."

Lifeline reassures her comrade, "Don' worry. We won' be sendin' ya alone. One a us will make sure he don' mash ya up."

"So," asks Mirage, turning the tables," who's it gonna be?"

Silently, the present legends play a game of "not it" while looking around the court. Who would make a good envoy to the deadly killing machine bent on his own demise and that of everyone around him? Who would have the guts to negotiate with him?

In unison, they agree, "Pathfinder."

\---

"No."

Despite Revenant's brusque and expected response, Mirage is proud of himself for actually being the one to ask the question. At this point, however, he's glad when Pathfinder follows up.

"But friend," chirps the MRVN, "how else will you get to Olympus? Like Mirage said, your clearance was denied, so they won't let you on board."

"It won't be the first time I've snuck onto Psamathe, and it won't be the last," grunts the simulacrum.

"Security is quite formidable, though. If they catch you, you may not be able to continue in the games. Isn't that the best way to follow Loba?"

This causes Revenant to pause and consider, and some of the tension in the Legends' compound is relieved.

"Wow," thinks Mirage, "Path's actually good at this. Him and Loba... are they a thing now?"

Revenant, however, has his mind made up, "Doesn't matter. There's no way in hell you're stuffing me in a suitcase. Word gets out, and I'll have a lot more laughing people to kill, starting with _you_."

"Oh demonio," sings a smooth voice.

Loba walks up and joins the conversation, "I couldn't help but overhear that you weren't up to joining us on Psamathe."

"What's it to you, girlie?"

"Well, I was just thinking about a little something I have tucked away that could interest you," she tempts before whispering something to Revenant.

The assassin straightens up, looks back at Loba, and sighs at the smirk on her face. He then turns to Mirage and Pathfinder, "Fine, but you're bringing me on board. I'm not getting tossed around in baggage claim."

As Revenant slinks off towards the luggage cart, Mirage's mind catches up with what happened and is now stumbling over itself in an attempt to understand. He stammers, "Di... I uh... did I just hear what I thought I heard? What in the Typhon rubble did you just offer him?"

"Let's just say I guaranteed this would be the last time he has to crawl out of a suitcase. Oh, and you both owe me."

As Loba struts away, Pathfinder turns to his compatriot, "I'm not sure what just happened, Mirage. What did Loba tell Revenant?"

"I have no idea, and maybe it's better that way. Come on. We've gotta figure out how to stuff him in a suitcase."

"Sounds fun!"

"I'll let you push him in first, then."

\---

Revenant stands over the largest of Mirage's luggage, still wondering to himself if it wouldn't be easier to murder spaceport security and use one of their dead bodies as a disguise. "There's still time," he thinks, "I'm pretty sure that Lysander still works there as a guard. Most people avoid him anyway, and he's had it coming for a while. A little stabbing, a little sewing: instant camouflage."

Pathfinder and Mirage find the assassin, and all three prepare themselves mentally for what comes next. They continue to prepare for the next two minutes before Revenant breaks the silence: "You'll have to take off my legs."

"Ah," starts Mirage as he stares at the simulacrum's hips, "so, is it like a pop and lock situation or are there screws or..."

"There are screws."

"Gotcha."

A short silence.

Pathfinder speaks up, "I'm good with screws."

Revenant and Mirage respond in unison, "I'm sure you are."

Another silence. Pathfinder then leaves to locate a screwdriver.

Mirage realizes he's still staring at Revenant's hips, snaps out of it, then suggests, "I guess you should probably sit down."

"Why should I?" growls the assassin.

"It'll be kinda hard, y'know, if you're standing the whole time."

By the mercy of the Allfather, Pathfinder soon returns so the transportational farce can continue. Mirage empties his suitcase (which is, accordingly, filled mostly with hair care products) while Pathfinder removes Revenant's legs and receives the following curses:

"CAREFUL!"

"Are you trying to paralyze me?"

" _I will give you a heart so I can rip it out of you._ "

"ONE MORE TIME AND THE SCREWDRIVER GOES IN YOUR EYE!"

"That's it, put my legs back on so I can throw your grapple in a woodchipper."

Pathfinder soon finishes the process just as Mirage has reorganized his other luggage. Now significantly shorter, Revenant retains his dignity as he walks on his hands and nestles inside Mirage's suitcase.

"There's still time," Revenant thinks to himself, "I can crawl out right now and this never has to happen. Then again, there's no telling how many other suitcases are sitting out there, waiting for me to wake up in them... they might not all be in cities, either... Gotta hand it to the girl: she plans ahead."

Pathfinder asks the simulacrum, "Well, friend, we're almost ready to leave; is there anything you need?"

"Give me a pillow."

The only thing close by is a plush figure of Gibraltar which fits snugly behind Revenant's head. Just before Mirage goes to lock the suitcase, the assassin grabs the trickster's attention.

"Hey, skinbag. Let me make something perfectly clear: we never, _**eve**_ r speak of this again. Do you understand? If I find out you've told anyone about this, I'll..."

Revenant then spends four minutes describing a death so terrible that it causes the blood to drain from Mirage's face. The message is well received, so much so that Elliot will replay it in his mind every night for the next few weeks.

Mirage gulps, which is painful due to the dryness of his throat. He then follows up, shakily, "No problemo. Besides, Olympus takes their security really serious, so I'd rather not be on their bad side."

Revenant considers, based on his threat, that letting the homicidal cat out of the bag meant there wouldn't be enough left of Mirage to be on _anybody's_ side, but the metal man keeps it to himself. Saying anything more would be excessive.


	3. Once You Saw Me, Now You Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31 Days of Apex - Day 31 - Freestyle: A rather silly set of stories involving Revenant and a suitcase. As a note, this was written before more details about the state of Olympus were available.

_Pleasant music plays, akin to a 1950's PSA._

_A chipper narrator speaks up._

On today's Tales of the Frontier: "Once You Saw Me, Now You Don't"

The interior of the transport ship is dimly lit, small lights occasionally popping out along the aisles. There is a steady clattering under the floor, something that would infect a first time flyer with anxiety. Travelers from all walks of life are seated sporadically throughout the main chamber: politicians, business owners, construction workers, bounty hunters, soldiers of fortune, a lone chef, three street artists who hate each other, that one woman with the screaming child who is sitting much too close to the airlock, and legends. All are on their way to the magnificent city of Olympus, floating jewel of Psamathe.

Most of the legends are grouped on the same side of the cabin and watching over Mirage and the bulky suitcase sitting in his lap. Inside the suitcase is 70% of Revenant, as he wasn't able to fit with his legs attached. In case you're wondering: yes, this is a terrible idea.

The journey is almost halfway completed, which both relieves and stresses Mirage. On the one hand, he is closer to freedom and safety; on the other, it would be so much more dramatic for things to go wrong right near the end, and it's a worry he can't seem to shake. In fact, this translates to his legs as he starts to fidget occasionally, which then leads him to believe that everyone has seen his nervousness. This causes him to sweat, which is also totally noticeable because who wouldn't see that? Rather than settle on one nervous tick, this cascade of self-awareness manifests itself into a stammering showtune of minor fidgets and mumblings until it is silenced by a lone word from the simulacrum:

"Meow."

Mirage stops and looks at the suitcase. All of the legends join him in staring, as well as a few nearby passengers. Elliot looks to the lady a few seats away from him and smiles. Despite the glamour in the man's face, it is not enough to detract from the possibility of a cat being locked in his luggage. Mirage quickly fabricates a cover story.

"I guess I left my phone in here, haha. Sounds like my friend's cat. Are you trying to call me, Reve- I mean, Richard?"

Revenant plays along, enjoying the fact that he can make Mirage squirm in a new way, "I wanted to ask you about last night. About what you said before you left."

"Oh? What did I say?"

"You can't just drop that on me and act like it didn't happen. I want to hear you say it again. Tell me that you love me."

Torture isn't necessarily illegal in some parts of the Outlands, but it's rarely done this publicly.

"I... I love you. Dick," Mirage forces through a pained smile.

Numerous snickers come from the legends. Wraith's eyes are wide open, mainly because she didn't see this coming. Crypto gently smiles and slowly claps from a few seats away.

In an effort to get a better handle on the situation, Mirage migrates to an unoccupied corner of the chamber. From here, he can better interrogate his travel buddy.

"What are you doing? Do you want to get caught?"

"Don't lecture me, skinsuit," replies the assassin through his acid tongue, "You were fidgeting so much I thought I had been thrown in a clothes dryer. Wouldn't recommend it, by the way: slow and boring death. If I hadn't caused a distraction, you would have blown our cover."

Mirage fires back, "And how does a meow keep us out of suspicion?"

Revenant reasons, "You stopped fidgeting, didn't you?"

Mirage is quiet, knowing he can't argue with the results of the assassin's misdirection. Elliot even has to admire it, as it was quite the effective decoy. It did bamboozle him away from his tension.

Some time passes in silence, and during this time, Revenant decides to open one of the interior pockets of the suitcase. Upon doing so, an avalanche of white letters covers his face. Although cramped, he is able to shuffle some to the side and grab one for inspection. On the outside of the envelope is a name written in slightly scratchy but still orderly handwriting: "Gibraltar."

For once, the simulacrum's sharpened fingers slice into something that isn't sentient as he slides open the envelope and begins to read the message held within:

"Hey Makoa,

This letter isn't easy to write, but, well, I guess none of them are. I just hope my face is still good-looking, you know? That's just a little gallows humor for you.

I wanted to let you know that you mean a lot to me. I've connected with a lot of the others who've survived this long, but you've been a big influence, and I'm thankful for that. Inside and outside of the ring, you've always been larger than life. I guess that's why I look up to you so much. You don't just protect people; you also lift them up. I'd like to think... no, I **know** that you've helped me more than anyone else I can think of. You were always there. Always understanding, always giving me one of your hugs when you knew I needed it most. And some days I really needed it. You could consider this a hug from me right now.

No matter what happens or where you go from here, I want you to know that you made a difference to a lot of people. I can't speak for them (except maybe Crypto, because I never thought he'd trust _anyone_ ), but I will say this: you certainly made a difference to me.

Your bruddah always,

Elliot"

With surprising care, Revenant tucks the letter back into its envelope, then picks up another, this one addressed to Wattson:

"Hey Natalie,

I don't think I ever told you this, but you're probably the most talented engineer I've ever met. Definitely more effective than me (but only maybe a little). You've got the "spark" for it. You have what it takes to fix any problem, and you always make me smile. You even made Dr. Caustic smile once or twice, and I was afraid he might explode or dissolve or something.

I hope you keep inventing and keep sharing that same light with people, just like you brought to me. That's why I'm leaving my gear to you. It has a few special decoys pre-programmed for everyone, just in case you ever need a Mirage around to make the place a little more handsome.

Your friend,

Elliot

P.S. Keep Crypto in line for me. He needs someone to remind him to lighten up every so often."

Revenant continues opening up letter after letter, combing over Mirage's goodbyes. In every one, there is heartfelt praise and memories. Each letter is filled with Elliot's thoughts, hopes, regrets, and truths. No diversions, no decoys, no facades. Except for one: a letter written for "Mom."

Rather than being handwritten, it's printed on sturdy cardstock. It's also accompanied by a data chip and a separate note that says:

"Read this every other week or so, whenever you think it's been enough time. There's a copy of it on the data chip if the letter gets worn, as well as a few other messages to use. Thank you for everything, C.

-Elliot"

The letter itself reads:

"Hey Mom!

I wanted to send you a letter and let you know we'll be out for a little bit longer than usual this season. When the games aren't going on, they've asked me to work on some advertising stuff involving holograms. I'll show them a thing or two (but the family secrets will still be ours). I know you'll be well taken care of, and I can't wait to see you again!

Love,

Elliot"

There are some truths that hurt too much to acknowledge.

Whilst looking through these letters, Revenant notices that his name is missing. Now, let it be known, the simulacrum doesn't _care_. That's something that happens to other people. But it is odd, and he is bored, so it only makes sense that he asks the following question:

"Hey skinbag. Don't have a heartfelt sonnet for me in here, do you?"

Mirage's mind fills with dread and cursing as he realizes the one thing he forgot to unpack to make room for Revenant. Well, the beans have most certainly been spilled, so there's no hiding it.

"Oh, you found those, did you? I uh- I just- Well yours was... you're not mad, are ya?"

"Plenty of other things to be angry about, but your sweet nothings aren't _important enough_. I figured you could at least do me the favor of rubbing it in my face that I wasn't the one to kill you."

"That's not-" Mirage begins, but changes course out of indignance, "Actually, you're the whole reason I wrote those. Well, not the whole reason. But, like, a signali-, Sigourney-, you were a big part of it."

"Oh really?" croaks Revenant, pleased with himself.

"The games were always risky in the first place, but you scared the bejeezus out of me when you showed up. Like something out of my nightmares. No offense."

"Heheheh, par for the course. "

Mirage wonders to himself, "Why am I telling him this? I'm still not completely sure he's contained, so I could be missing a throat at any minute. Well, Elliot, you've come this far and he knows this much. Can't get any worse."

This is a fallacy of the highest caliber, but Mirage is better off not realizing it. With blind and possibly fatal confidence, he marches onward.

"But it got me to thinking: we can't all come back like you. There could be a day when I can't get patched up enough. Then what? Do I just disappear? Everything I wanted to do, does that fade away with me? I realized there were a lot of things I wanted to say to people, but never found the time or the courage. So, I started writing. Maybe someday... I hope I can read those letters to them in person."

The simulacrum acknowledges this with sarcasm as well as a tinge of respect, "How admirable. I'd say I can relate, but I never had anybody worth writing to."

But in his mind, Revenant quickly revisits this, "Or did I?"

Mirage finishes his explanation, "To be honest, I didn't really intend on writing you a letter, mostly because I didn't think you'd want one. I was afraid you'd bring me back somehow and use the paper to kill me again. But, now that I think of it, there's something I do want to tell you: thank you."

Taken aback, Revenant doesn't know what to say to this. He is the embodiment of fear and the cold reply to existence. He only gives what is not wanted, and takes what is cherished. That was the deal he forged: forever disrupting a universe that dealt him a punishment far outweighing his crimes. The only thankfulness he ever expected was from himself to himself.

Mirage quickly follows up, "I know that sounds weird. But I do have something to thank you for. You scared me into bravery, or at least the start of it. I know you didn't mean to do it, but I also didn't know how much I needed it, how much I needed to just be real for a minute or two. So, uh, yeah. Thanks."

For all of his tricks, his diversions, and his subterfuge, Revenant is now the one who is silenced. Despite his endless quips on death, he had never expected anyone to apply them, and now he fights back an old, tired enemy. Envy, that great inequalizer, bursts through the feeble stitches that held its wound closed as Revenant wishes he could be Mirage. Come to think of it, the old man starts to wish he was like any of the other skinsuits. At least they can really _feel_. At least they can _remember_. At least they can one day rest, an idea that always loops close by, taunting him, but ultimately swings back to a nigh-infinite distance.

In his mind, Revenant threads the same needle as usual, "Heh, they're still a bunch of skinbags, and they'll always be chained by their fears. Unlike me."

But this time, much like the last, the stitches are a bit looser than before.

The remainder of the journey for Mirage is spent taking a short nap and then snapping some photos for his dating profile, which now boasts 769 pictures in total. Revenant has been dormant, stewing in his own discomfort and rage, much like any Saturday night.

With a gentle rumble, the transport ship settles on a landing platform in Olympus. Passengers begin collecting their carry-on luggage and stretch their limbs, including our embattled wayfarers. Octane attaches his legs while Bloodhound bestills Artur, keeping him from pecking at some crumbs scattered in Caustic's beard. However, a clear path is soon made for Mirage as he excuses and apologizes his way through the crowd at breakneck speed. The reason behind his haste isn't just to be cleared through security, but also because Revenant has taken the opportunity to continue his charade from earlier.

The simulacrum's voice can be heard emanating from the suitcase: "... and that face you make when I tickle your ears, it makes me think of a puppy dog. When you get back, I want to drink wine from the deep pools that are your eyes..."

Loba smirks and comments as Mirage shuffles past, "I know a good vintage, if you two want to be really romantic."

"No thanks," Mirage calls back while slapping the suitcase, "He can't actually have wine. It makes his head swim. _Doesn't it, Dick_?"

"Oh, honey," sings Revenant from inside his confinement, "You know I can't go swimming _unless I take you with me_."

Thankfully, spaceport security doesn't discover Mirage's contraband. With a little cybernetic sleight of hand from Crypto, Olympus security is none the wiser that an extremely dangerous murderbot has been smuggled into the city. Our trickster finds a suitable alleyway to discretely unpack his synthetic beloved. However, upon opening the luggage, Revenant does not move.

"All right," sighs Mirage in relief, "Looks like we're in the clear, although I guess you'll probably want to lay low until we get to the new dorms."

The trickster receives no response. He leans in closer to see that the simulacrum is inert, his eyes no longer glowing yellow.

"Hey, R-revenant, buddy? You awake? We finally arrived."

Just as Mirage draws slightly nearer, Revenant screams and throws his hands towards his co-conspirator. Mirage, reasonably, screams even louder and splits into several decoys, all of them running far from the alley.

Revenant cackles, "Hahaha, never gets old. Looks like you've still got a few other fears to conquer, skinsuit."

In spite of the reaction, Revenant is still strangely worried about the thanks he received earlier. Was he losing his touch? What good was being the terror of the Outlands if people stopped being afraid of him? Was he just another boogeyman that society would sweep back under the bed? And then, and even greater realization dawns upon him.

"Wait, did they pack my legs?"


	4. Won't You Be My Wingman?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pathfinder seeks Revenant for backup when asking Sheila on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place prior to any of the events of Season 6, so it may deviate from what the quest eventually unfurls. Also, props to EuclideanVision for inspiration on the concept of "chemoreceptors" for simulacra. Maybe, just maybe, they'll one day enjoy ice cream again.

_Pleasant music plays, akin to a 1950's PSA._

_A chipper narrator speaks up_.

On today's Tales of the Frontier: "Won't You Be My Wingman?"

"Good morning, friend!" chirps Pathfinder, a mechanical songbird signaling joy, camaraderie, and, as his greeting suggests, unexpected friendship. He stands in the doorway of a fellow competitor's room, one of dozens nestled within the Apex Games compound. Behind the MRVN the early morning sun stretches through a hallway window, glittering the air with dust motes and painting a synthetic halo around our grappling greeter.

Within the room floats a furious, old simulacrum, Revenant, whose preferred shadows are being eaten by what rays sneak past Pathfinder's lanky frame and stripe the killer's bed. The mattress doesn't serve as a method of sleeping, since the assassin no longer requires it, but it does prove a good spot for meditation, allowing Revenant to contemplate his existence and the things that are most important to him. Now, however, that peace has been interrupted.

Sitting up on the bed, his yellow eyes glowing in the murky room, Revenant replies, "What do you want, bucket?"

"Oh, well..." answers Pathfinder, twiddling his fingers and looking to the side. The screen on the robot's chest keeps flashing between question marks and a face with heart eyes, but never settles on one in particular.

"Did you come in here just to play charades, or do I have to rip the words out of you?" Revenant threatens in encouragement.

Pathfinder snaps to attention, now full of rushed confidence, "I'm going to go talk to Rampart today, and I was wondering... would you be my wingman?"

The first thought to come into Revenant's mind is: "A Wingman... Like a gun? The modder just got here and we're already going to kill her? Looks like this MRVN finally snapped. I can teach him so much." He is then reminded of the more colloquial use of the term: "Wait, this is Pathfinder. He wants _me_ to back him up? To talk to turret girl?"

Revenant declines the request, "Not happening. Go bother some of the skinsuits, like Mirage or Gibraltar. They're soft enough to know some dating advice."

As Revenant starts to lie back down, Pathfinder shoots back, "I'm afraid they wouldn't be able to help as much as you... I don't think they've ever dated a machine, especially one like Sheila."

The assassin is caught between his need for solitude and a curiosity deeper than any fissure on Talos. On the one hand, he could just leave things be and not have to deal with watching Pathfinder break new romantic ground and likely fail. On the other hand, watching the robot blunder would be very entertaining and make for a good memory.

Good memories are sometimes hard to come by, so Revenant responds with: "Agh, fine. I'll help you propose to the gun," which is a sentence that has only been said 12 other times in the universe so far.

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to propose yet!" splutters Pathfinder, "But it would be good if we could at least go steady. Rampart's in her shop right now, if you might be ready."

"Yeah yeah, go on ahead. I'll be there," says Revenant as he brushes the robot off.

Full of excitement, Pathfinder hustles down the hallway towards Rampart's makeshift workshop. Revenant sits on the bed and rubs his face as if it still had temples to press on. He starts to realize what he's agreed to, and he isn't sure if he should laugh or groan. In any case, it's sure to be painful for someone, which is always nice.

Revenant finally arises from his bed looking down on the spot he had been covering up throughout the conversation. Curled up in a warm pillow are three kittens, each of them black as the shadows still lingering in the room. One opens its green eyes, yawns, and gives a crackling meow at the simulacrum.

"I'm heading out, you three. Won't be long, but your food and water are full, no matter how much Bayo screams," Revenant instructs the kittens.

He then taps the awakened fluffball on the nose, "And _you_. I had better not come back to find you and Kris scratching the curtains again. Do you understand, Kukri?"

Kukri yawns again, just before the looming assassin grumpily continues his lecture: "Those came from the same house as my 100th contract, so you'd better leave them be, or I will eviscerate your toys in front of you and see how you like it."

\---

A few minutes later, Revenant finds Pathfinder rocking back and forth on both feet... pegs... _whatever the ends of his legs are_ , while just outside Rampart's shop. This workspace is essentially Rampart's standard room with all of the furniture removed (save a hammock hung in the corner) and replaced with gunsmithing equipment. It's cramped, hot, littered with metal shavings, and hopefully temporary for just a while longer while her full shop is set up at Witt's place. A fast cranking sound spins from the doorway before a wrench tumbles out into the hall. The modder curses at the size of her working quarters before she picks up the wrench and greets our metal matchmaking maestros.

"Ah, what can I do for you blokes? Looking to get some guns attached to your hands? Not a good idea. Last fella who volunteered capped himself when he got an itchy ear."

At this point, Pathfinder would usually be beyond eager to continue the conversation, but his hesitation drapes a heavy silence over Ramya's introduction. Even his screen is blank, as his communication protocols are entering a meltdown. The cause? Just over Ramya's shoulder is a glimmer of Sheila's freshly oiled barrels. The turret's tripod mount is scandalously removed, and any remaining modesty is lost when Path sees that she's also got her outer casing open, exposing the elegant and intimate machinery within her chassis. Pathfinder doesn't know what blushing is like, but this is the closest he'll ever get.

Noticing the impending critical error and remembering that the show must go on, Revenant pushes Pathfinder forward so the bot will engage a little. Pathfinder does indeed engage... _with the ground_. Even his gyroscopic sensors are compromised by his nervousness, causing his legs and, well, _all of him_ to lock up and topple at Revenant's push. At the same time, this is immensely effective, as the impact snaps Pathfinder out of his embarrassed gridlock so he can provide the following fragmented soliloquy:

"I... Friend... I was wondering... An outing... A _friendly_ outing would be... Maybe the sunset over at Water Treatment... Or does Sheila like The Cage? NOT THAT I WOULD CAGE HER! She's a free turret, and I don't want to limit her! She can go where she likes. If she has someone to take her... I mean, if she _wants_ someone to take her. She can have my grapple if she needs to go somewhere alone. But that could also be with me. Both of us alone together. Right, friend?"

Pure poetry.

Pathfinder continues to babble like a broken coffee kiosk while Rampart looks to Revenant and asks, "What's got him scrambled? Did he make out with one of Wattson's fences?"

Like a true wingman, the simulacrum tries to take up for his panicking friend, "Actually, he's nervous because he wants to make out with your turret."

At the sound of this obviously true and also impossible statement, Pathfinder freezes yet again. Ramya's eyebrows raise up, and Revenant would do the same if he had any face muscles. Or eyebrows at all, for that matter. Contrary to popular belief, the truth can sometimes set you free and then immediately trap you in a different mess entirely.

Thinking back on this, Revenant realizes that blunt honesty may have been a poor choice when trying to inspire Pathfinder. Thinking even further back, however, picking Revenant as a dating consultant and confidant was an even worse choice, so it still balances out to being Path's fault that any embarrassment has been endured.

Then, from deep within our cybernetic Romeo, just like any high school love story, he suddenly feels a surge of confidence that inexplicably eradicates his fears, even if only for a second. Imbued with a last-ditch eloquence, Pathfinder calms his wires and flatters:

"Sheila is a magnificent, powerful, and elegant turret, and I would love to spend more time with her outside of matches. Could I have your blessing to show her some of my favorite spots around Solace? I'll be a perfect gentleman. I can even wear a bowtie, if she appreciates formalwear."

Ramya is awestruck. She's used to people admiring her work, but this is a first. At least, she certainly _hopes_ it's a first, lest she have to think on what her clients might be doing with their purchases. What would you even call this kind of love? A fusiliphile? Projectiphile? Lock, Stock, and Bare Your Feelings? That's probably a question for another day or some other gunsmith. More importantly, could she trust that the robot would actually take care of Sheila? Ramya hasn't loaned a gun in years, not since Shanks and the Doorbell Incident.

She needs time to think: "Sorry mate, but I don't think she's ready to venture out on her own just yet. I'll let you know if she changes her mind."

This torpedo cracks Pathfinder's resolve, causing him to sink low, provide a sad screen, and reply, "Oh, okay. I understand. I'll be available if she changes her mind."

Pathfinder slinks off down the hallway to unpack a once-hopeful picnic basket he had prepared. Even though he knew this outcome was possible, he was unaware of just how much it would hurt to realize it, and now it hits him hard. It's a harsh cocktail of emotions that he can't fully savor: regret, embarrassment, disappointment, listlessness, and a small spark of hope that is constantly being drowned by its current bedfellows.

He wonders if asking Mirage for a drink will help, even if the robot can only pour it over his head.

Ramya switches from Pathfinder's March of Woe, looks at Revenant, and states, "I think I need tea. You want some tea? Or are you more of a 'whiskey at 9 AM' kind of bloke?"

Revenant says nothing, but instead stares back in a manner that seems to convey, "Do I look like I can drink anything, skinbag?"

"Right," confirms Ramya, "No mouth. You know, if you're ever in the market, I know a guy who's been working on some chemoreceptors for simulacrum clients. Guy's got vision. Food for thought."

The synthetic assassin grunts and starts to walk back to his room, but not before spying something interesting in Rampart's shop. Perhaps this modder can help him after all, even if she doesn't know it.

\---

A few hours pass as the legends spend their downtime in various ways. Caustic is caught sneaking experiments onto the liquor shelf at the Paradise Lounge in town, _again,_ although he promises the effects would only be deadly to 23% of possible test subjects. Bangalore and Loba have disappeared completely in search of something Anita calls "Buried Treasure" but refuses to give further details on. Octane steals Hack from Crypto as a joke, ensuring that he will one day have a comeuppance where his legs are programmed to only work in reverse.

A typical day, all things considered.

As for Ramya Parekh, our favorite modder has finally completed diagnostics on Sheila and is preparing to reassemble the turret. However, she finds that a piece is missing. She runs a tidy shop, and knows where everything is at all times (clutter is bad for business). Even so, she searches the cramped domicile and only comes up with a desire for more room. She makes a mental note to send a snippy message to her moving company, then sets off to find Sheila's last piece.

A few minutes pass before Rampart follows a promising lead and knocks on the door of Revenant's room. Popping in a fresh piece of bubblegum, she announces herself, "Hey, cyber-lich, have you seen Sheila's laser? Someone's knicked it, and it's better if I ask before she takes it back personally."

From the other side of the door, Revenant grunts, "Go ask Pathfinder. Little robot's probably making a shrine to it right now."

"Oh, is that right?" replies the modder while she reconfigures the wires on the assassin's door. As the entryway opens, Ramya says, "Because Pathfinder told me to ask you about it."

Inside, Ramya is surprised (but not very surprised) to find Revenant using the laser as a toy for his cats. The three kittens are mewling and scampering over one another to catch the beam of light, but this abruptly ends as Revenant lunges for the door to hide sight of them from any passersby.

With the lowest and most vicious of growls, the simulacrum warns, "You saw _nothing_ , understand? Not unless you want to permanently see nothing."

Used to threats both idle and real, Ramya is unfazed. She smirks, blows a bubble, and leans against the doorframe while shooting back, "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. But that doesn't mean I can't take you apart and leave you scattered in some trash cans. Did you know Natalie's working on an electrified net? _Very useful_."

Revenant loosens his stance and sighs. The wrench girl is right. She has him caught, and there's nothing he can do to avoid it. Now isn't the time for making more messes, not while Loba is still on the fence about helping him. He stares wistfully into the distance for a brief moment, longing for the days when he could kill indiscriminately. Better times.

"All right, you've got me," he surrenders, "you can have the laser back."

"Actually," Ramya starts, "you can keep it in exchange for a favor."

"What is it?"

"Chaperone Pathfinder while he takes Sheila on a date."

Revenant considers this, then declines, "I'd rather spend the next century impersonating garbage."

"Come on, I know you've got a soft spot for the little MRVN," bargains Ramya, "Otherwise, you wouldn't have helped him completely bomb it earlier. I feel sorry for the bloke."

Unexpectedly, Revenant is touched by this, which boils his anger like rage soup in a vase made of knives (with a pinch of salt). The nerve of that glorified GPS, making him care and wish for his well-being! And the wrench girl has enough gall to say that Revenant was a terrible wingman? She is correct, but the assassin won't allow himself to be guilted when he has clearly failed someone important to him... someone he also hates out of principle. But also loves, in a despising way. The simulacrum growls and gives Ramya a piece of his mind.

"Fine, I'll do it, but don't expect me to play violin or anything."

"Funny, I had you for a trumpet player," jokes Ramya, "Probably would run out of breath anyway. Just make sure Sheila doesn't get scratched, or the cat will be out of the bag for you."

Hold on a minute, folks...

_He's going off script, literally, figuratively, and computationally..._

_[Unintelligible chatter]_

_No, I don't want him to go on a_ _ **killing spree!**_ _But he's breaking character, Susanne! He's not supposed to be in the next part!_

_[Unintelligible chatter]_

_You're the boss. I guess I'll just improvise._

Sorry about that interruption, listeners. Just some _technical difficulties._ Let's return to our programming.

With a grunt of agreement, Revenant asks, "What time?"

"6 o'clock, tonight. I'll find out where he wants to go. And in the meantime," coos Ramya while picking up a kitten at her feet, "I can watch over these little nippers!"

The simulacrum can't tell if he should take the kitten back or hope that Bayo scratches the meddling modder's eyes out. He softly retrieves the purring furball and closes the door. The sound of a moving bookshelf can be heard as Revenant finds a more permanent way to close the entrance.

"Well, Bayo," he addresses the kitten, " _you'd better play with the laser after this, or there will be a lot more vacuuming._ "

\---

A shimmering beam vibrates on the waters, its edges frayed and fractured by waves. Nearby, a Leviathan bellows a sweet verse to its mate, the reverb of the call further disturbing the sunset's reflection in front of the Water Treatment facility. High atop one of the building's towers, Pathfinder sits back against the upper end of his zipline. He has placed himself a respectable 2 feet away from Sheila, whose tripod sets her facing the waters as well.

In front of them is a blanket weighted down by a picnic basket and heavy rifle magazines. Two wine glasses halfway filled with machine oil stand watch over ceramic plates that house the main (and only) courses: a bundle of grappling hook cable and a spare, empty turret magazine. Pathfinder is just finishing one of his favorite stories from his early days in the games.

"... but Mirage caught me just in time before I could be smashed on the rocks below. I could have used my grapple, but he's such a good friend that he was already there. I'll never forget what he said to me: 'I won't always be there to catch you, but I was this time, so I can do it sometimes but not always.' He has quite a way with words."

Just below them, hiding in the shadows cast by the tower, Revenant leans against a pipe and listens closely. Normally, Pathfinder's voice gives him a simulated headache, but this moment feels different. The robot is speaking softly while still being upbeat. A smooth tone rolls from his voice modulator and syncs with the hum of the facility. This creates a synthetic melody that blends with the waves crashing against the cliffs, a symphony of nature and technology playing refreshing music, much like machines learning how to love.

"Still a nuisance," Revenant reminds himself, although the effectiveness of this is suspect.

Pathfinder takes a break from watching the waves and slightly glances over to Sheila. She stands tall and strong, unafraid of who she is or any who would oppose her. Path admires this, as she has a sense of self and purpose he longs for. He also thinks on her reliability and focus, traits they both share.

Ever so carefully, Pathfinder moves his hand closer to her, but not so much as to come on too strongly. Sheila, however, is rigid and does not meet his offering, preferring to take things slow and balanced. She knows the risk of letting a relationship become overheated too quickly. This is only their first date, after all.

Deep down, she hates that she always does this. Always surrounding herself with defenses, entrenched in a position of cautious consideration. But Ramya means so much to her, always there to pick up the pieces and help her through the aftermath. Sheila doesn't want to put her through any more stress, especially not after what the modder's been through recently. Rami acts strong and brash, but sometimes that's the only option that doesn't involve giving up. Pathfinder may be different, but that doesn't mean he just flips a switch and gets to play with both Sheila's heart and Ramya's.

Path sees that the moment has passed, but still knows that it isn't an end to the date. Instead, he decides to open up and trust Sheila, hoping she can also trust him.

"I didn't used to like it up here, actually," he begins, "The leviathans are beautiful creatures, but they made me sad. I couldn't find out why exactly for the longest time, but when they walked into the canyon together, that's when I knew: they had each other no matter what.

"They could have taken the safe route, having one come in and inspect everything while the other waited to make sure it was okay, but they came in together, in the middle of a warzone. Everything they did, they did together, and I wanted that.

"I keep looking for my creator, and I know there's a good possibility that they're dead, but that doesn't make it easier. I was so focused on finding them and expecting that they'll give me a purpose... but I started to wonder what I would do if I never found them. Or, what would I do if they didn't have a purpose for me? Where would I go from there?

"Then the leviathans left and headed back out to sea. Even after the explosions and gunshots and the new repulsor tower, they still journeyed together. Like all of my friends here. That's when I realized that I would always have a purpose and a family, even after my creator is gone. Now, when I sit up here, I like to imagine the closest leviathan is myself, and the other is any one of the other legends. Always traveling together, even if we bicker from time to time. My purpose _is_ my family, no matter who that happens to be."

Sheila isn't sure what to say as Path continues to admire the towering pair of beasts. She hadn't expected the date to take this turn, but it isn't a bad outcome. The turret stands stiff-backed, afraid to share any feelings in turn lest she say too much and end up unloading on the MRVN. That would be a fine end to it: barreling over the kind robot with her own problems. At the same time, she knows deep down that Path will almost certainly support her, no matter how much she fires at him. She's only known Pathfinder a short time, but it was immediately clear from the start that he helped everybody.

He helps _everybody..._

And that's just it. She'll only become another therapy session, another motivational weed that he'll have to tend to. If Sheila follows through on her feelings, she'll inevitably take up another plot in his garden, using him like a mechanical life force. He'll love her, and she'll just take, and never feel like she's done enough to earn that love. He's too pure and she's...

She's already caused enough damage.

So, here they sit, watching the mango sorbet sunset cool into a cloudless night filled with sprinklings of stardust. A robot who loves because he wants to, and a turret who can't because she's afraid to.

And because she's a turret.


End file.
